A Gazing Globe
I have found her.
But…
The child has been taken in by another family. And not a family of Velka. But of Nahrzai.
And not even inland Nahrzai, where a Velka may readily take note and give aid, but Nahrzai in a coastal village, far to the southeast, well away from merchant roads. Isolated.
I have long since concluded that the gods of this world do exist—though in what form, and what they are, precisely, is a topic for another time. I only mention them here because I suspect one of them is a vile trickster.
Of all places. Of all villages.
Has this ever happened before—a Nahrzai family adopting a Velka child? I do not know.
Of course I ventured there. I have not taken the long road to catch up to her, only to balk now.
And they knew, of course—those Nahrzai. They always know. I can disguise myself as a Velka all I like, but even I can never hide my scent. Inland Nahrzai never brought it up. I cannot say if daily dealings with Velka and Vaskari had taught them to ask no questions, or if they were too occupied with their own affairs, or simply too polite. After all this time, why did I never wonder about that?
In a way, the Nahrzai sense of smell worked in my favor. While they detected my deception, they also knew that I did not intend any trouble. A few wary looks were the worst I received as I came to their village.
Teyaka, it’s called. I believe it is named for the deep, clear spring on its outskirts. It is beautiful—surrounded by cypress and magnolia, deep enough for the largest Nahrzai to dive, and one can see clear to the bottom.
Taru would be considered old, among Velka, but here, she is a young matriarch with a little daughter, Rima, and another offspring still in its egg. She was the one who caught the child when I should have.
They have named her Mirei. It is the name of the tide in late summer, under a full moon. It is considered the Tide of Mysteries—and yes, it is related to their word shamirei: the mysteries of the deep ocean, the closest understanding the Nahrzai have to the word secret.
Mirei.
I cannot bring myself to write down the name Hara gave her.
She is happy. She loves her Nahrzai sister, Rima, and the little Nahrzai—how little they are, when they’re young—loves her, in turn. They cling to each other as they sleep, and play together throughout the day.
The other Nahrzai dote on her, as well. She has not yet learned to hide her emotions, to lie about her feelings. They adore her openness in all things—her joy, her curiosity, even her tears. She is as protected and held dear as any Nahrzai child.
I cannot take her from this.
I cannot.
I have asked Taru why she did not take the child to an outpost. There is one not far up the coast, frequented by Velka traders. Taru tells me the moonlight and the tides meant for Mirei to be here.
I shall never forget what she said to me then: “Does this surprise you—you, who entered through the same gate as the starlight?”
It was the closest I have ever felt to fear, even though I could not have said why. Not fear for my life. I do not know.
She claims the child was meant to come here. And who am I, to say she is inaccurate?
What am I to do?
I had thought my questing would be over when at last I found the child. Now, I do not know why I held this belief.
Her father…
I remember.
I must go. The child—Mirei—is safe. I have time yet.
—The Traveler